Waves of Fire
by Nerdanel
Summary: “All stories have a beginning, and though this one ends in naught but sorrow, it began in joy.” The complete tale of Nerdanel and Fëanor, from her point of view. Indefinitely incomplete.
1. Introduction and Author's Notes

Waves of Fire  
  
Synopsis: "All stories have a beginning, and though this one ends in naught but sorrow, it began in joy." The complete tale of Nerdanel and Fëanor, from her point of view.  
  
Author's Note: This is the beginnings of my attempt to create a complete version of the tale of Nerdanel and Fëanor, one that has fascinated me for a long while. I have more written already, but it can wait a moment for it's time.  
  
Disclaimer: The characters, places, things and the original conception of the story belong to the Tolkien estate. I use them for my enjoyment only, and make no profit from this.  
  
Fëanáro = Fëanor  
  
~  
  
Many, many uncounted years have passed. And yet I still feel that familiar pang of loss every time I see the rays of Arien through my window rather than the warm glow of Laurelin. And the same salty tears fall down my cheeks when I see Eärendil sail across the night sky, for I can find no joy in gazing upon that jewel. Once it was a thing of beauty, and for some it still is. Yet for me it is a reminder of the beauty that once was; the beauty that was tainted by lust, by arrogance and by hate: the beauty that was made void by the blood-stained hands of my children: the beauty that was both created and destroyed by the one person I both hated and loved: Fëanáro, my husband.  
  
Yet all stories have a beginning, and though this one ends in naught but sorrow, it began in joy. In the days of bliss, when Telperion still shone, and the Power of Terror was but a small shadow behind the bright light of Laurelin; and when the Silmarilli were but a new and small thought in the mind of their creator.  
~  
  
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	2. Chaper One

Copper is the color of my youth. My father always prized it above even gold or silver. Just as he prized me, his only child. And it was no coincidence that I shared his copper hair, a rare trait among the Eldar, and one that was looked upon with admiration, second only to the golden tresses of the Vanyar.  
  
And on that evening, my father Mahtan returned from the forge carrying copper. The necklace seemed almost to shimmer in his hands as he stepped through the door. Perhaps it was but my own imagination, but the light of the mingling of the Trees made that piece of jewellery appear more beautiful than any other I had ever seen.  
  
Beaming with pride, he brought it to me, and lay it down before me on the table with care that only a smith could demonstrate. I peered at it for a long while. There was nothing extraordinary about the simple chain, nor was there anything particularly original about the green jewel set in a frame of copper vines. And yet it was perfect. Anything else that had once appeared beautiful set beside it would now seem dull, flawed. This necklace almost seemed to emit a light of its own, although that was still thought to be something unachievable. It was a piece of absolutely flawless craftsmanship, and the first of many I was yet to see.  
  
"You could not have made this yourself!" I exclaimed, glancing at my father, who was amused by my doubt, yet absolute correctness.  
  
"Nay, I am afraid to say I could never create such a thing. It was one of my apprentices. But I can at least take pride in knowing that I was his teacher, although he has already surpassed me in skill."  
  
I knew then that I must know who it was that had created such a wonder. If I had known then the name that I would hear, I may never have asked. "If there is such skill in Valinor, indeed in all of Arda, I must know who it is that possesses this talent. Or was it Aulë himself who created this?" I said, still carefully examining the necklace in my hands, afraid of destroying it with my touch.  
  
"Did I not just say it was one of my apprentices?"  
  
"You did so, but I can hardly believe that a Noldo could create this."  
  
"Then you must begin to believe such things, for one did. A Noldo whom I am sure will become great among his people, although he has not yet come of age."  
  
My amazement continued to increase. Not yet of age! Why the Noldo who created this must indeed have been blessed by Eru.  
  
"A Prince of the Noldor," my father continued. "Of course you already know of whom it is I speak." I did not. "Fëanáro, the only son of the High King Finwë."  
  
And that was the first time I ever had any real interest in that name. I had even seen him before, for my father was honoured and invited to the King's feasts often. And I must have seen him at my father's forge at times, but had paid no heed to him. Yet after that moment I would never be able to hear his name or see his face in the same way.  
  
"He asked that I give this to you," I realised my father was talking, and stopped trying to search my mind for any memory of seeing him. "For he said it reminded him of you, the copper hair and the green eyes."  
  
I scorned myself. He obviously knew me, and I was but a smith's daughter. He was the High King's son and I hardly remembered ever seeing him. And to think that he had given this flawless piece of craftsmanship to me, although I had never even bothered to ask his name or even smile at him. As if he could read my thoughts, my father added: "Do not be too startled. It is no great task for him to create such things. He could make another tomorrow if he pleased."  
  
His words were well intended, but I had almost wished it wasn't simple for him to create such things. But that of course was a ridiculous thought.  
  
"You must tell him that I am very thankful!"  
  
"I think perhaps that you should tell him that yourself."  
  
"I will, if ever I see him."  
  
I know what my father was smiling about now, but then I thought he was being a puzzling fool and dismissed the grin without a thought.  
  
~  
  
As I was readying myself for bed that evening, I took the pendant from my pocket and examined it again. It truly was beautiful, both in golden and silver light. I placed it around my neck and looked up at myself in the glass. I had worn many wonderful things which my father and other great smiths, even Aulë himself, had crafted, but never before had I felt a power in the jewel. But once again I tend to believe that my youthful heart was merely imagining it all. Yet at that moment, whether it was my mind or my heart fooling me, I felt older, wiser, and fairer. I had always known that I possessed no great beauty in comparison to my people. And yet when I looked upon the jewel, and knew that someone had deemed me worthy enough, whether in appearance or otherwise, to give it to me, for once I was truly able to believe that I was beautiful.  
  
~  
  
As Laurelin's beams flooded through my window the next morning and the warm ocean breeze played in the curtains, I was eager to be off. I did not know where, but I knew I must go somewhere.  
  
Like my father, I was an artist. Ever since an early age he had taught me to work with metals and stones, something that few women of the Eldar ever learned. But my father was not going to let a daughter stop him from passing on his joy in life. So I often found myself creating something in my father's forge or elsewhere, chiefly out of stone which I preferred. I often created statues of people I knew. I must admit that at that age I was no extraordinary artist, but I did enjoy doing it, and I was becoming better with every project.  
  
Yet recently there had been little inspiration or motivation for me to begin anything new. But on this morning, I suddenly felt that it was time I looked for inspiration, rather than waiting for it to find me. So I would journey along the sea, alone except for the soft lapping of the waves and the gentle caress of the wind. I had often done this before, and had discovered wondrous things by simply observing nature. This is what I did when I grew tired of observing people, as I had now.  
  
Feeling joyful and refreshed, I slipped on a light gown, and hung the pendant on my neck. It felt almost weightless. Running down the stairs with light feet, I found my mother, Istarnië, seated at her loom already, working on a tapestry she had begun several nights ago. It was to be a gift for the High King, the next time he held a feast.  
  
"Nerdanel," she said to the tapestry when I entered the room, "Would you mind if I put you in this tapestry?" She turned to me, smiling.  
  
"Of course not. But what do I have to do with King Finwë?"  
  
"Nothing. But you have a lot to do with me, and I am creating it."  
  
She was awfully persistent in her flattery, my mother. But I suppose that was what mothers did.  
  
"Mother?"  
  
"Yes?" She muttered, already intent on her weaving again.  
  
"I think I am going to leave on a journey again today."  
  
"Oh? And you have decided to tell me this now?"  
  
"I only just decided that I was going to now."  
  
"I do not doubt it." She smiled. "Come and go as you please. I do hope my company isn't that tedious."  
  
"No, of course not," I said, laughing. "I am merely restless. That is all."  
  
I was not aware of it then, but I was not to be alone at all on the journey I was about to embark on. I was about to journey to a place much farther, and far more dangerous than anywhere I had ever gone before.  
  
~  
  
Notes:  
  
The character of Nerdanel: All information of Nerdanel that is not found in Silmarillion I have either invented or taken from Morgoth's Ring and The Peoples of Middle-earth.  
  
Mahtan as Fëanor's teacher: The Silmarillion does say this, but one get the impression that he did not teach him until after his marriage to Nerdanel. However, for the purposes of this story, I have interpreted that differently.  
  
Istarnië: A name that was considered for Nerdanel. Since I needed name for her mother, I thought it best to use this one. It prevents me from creating incorrect Elvish names myself. 


	3. Chapter Two

I remember the wind was harsh on that evening. Laurelin's fading gleam was distant, and did not prevent the sea air from biting into my skin. I had wandered further this time than was my wont, but I was enjoying the wilds of Valinor. I imagined they must have looked like this even in the first years of Arda. And I imagined they would continue to look like this until the very end. That was why I liked to come here. It made me feel as though I were completely alone, with naught but the sea, the earth and air.  
  
"I did not know any others wandered so far along these shores."  
  
I started, and turned to face the voice behind me. He was a Noldorin man, tall, with dark black hair that fell down only to his shoulders. My father was the only other Elda I knew who wore his hair short, and that was to prevent it from hindering his metalwork. He seemed almost like one born by the shores of Cuiviénen. Indeed he appeared in that moment more majestic even than Finwë. But I read that only through his eyes, for in appearance he was still young, and I deemed had not yet celebrated his coming of age. But the first thing I knew when I saw him was his name. I knew there could be no other more suited to the name: Fëanáro, Spirit of Fire.  
  
"But it is no surprise to find the daughter of Mahtan here," he continued, and I was surprised to find he had identified me as quickly as I had him. "For this is a place for only the greatest of artists."  
  
I could not help but notice, even then, that he managed to compliment both himself and me with the same phrase.  
  
"I see that you wear my gift, Lady Nerdanel."  
  
I touched the necklace: I had forgotten it was there. I knew it was time that I said something, but there was simply nothing I could say that would seem relevant. I knew I had met someone that I, and most others, could never hope to surpass in anything. It both frustrated and fascinated me. But if he was skilled with words, he was also skilled with silence. He must have noted that I had nothing to say, so he accepted this form of conversation just as willingly, saying: "Come, there is something I think you should see."  
  
And he brought me to edge of a high cliff, where the waves beat against the hard stone walls, sending up sparks of salty sea spray. He began to climb down, his feet finding their way. I had been to this place many times, but I had always thought it impossible to descend the cliff, for it seemed sheer and steep. Yet he stepped down with such ease, that I had no choice but to follow and prove for myself that it was possible. And indeed it was. I found myself on a stony platform with him without slipping even once. When I looked back up, I was amazed that I had managed to climb down. He noticed my amazement and smiled slightly, explaining without a single word. Then he turned towards the ocean, and his gaze was lost in the furious dance of blue and white. But I did not watch the ocean. I watched his unflinching gaze as Telperion grew brighter, and the way his face softened as the sea began to subside and grow calm. And that was the first time in my life that I ever felt alone and complete. For I was one with air, water, earth, and fire.  
  
~  
  
As intent and alive as I had felt that night, I must have eventually fallen asleep for suddenly the ocean was still and the sky was bright. Finding that I was alone, I wondered if perhaps the surreal events of the evening had been naught but a vivid dream. But there was no doubt that they were not, for I could see him, Fëanáro, but a few paces away. Laurelin shone behind him and surrounded him in a golden glow, just as Telperion had done the night before with silver. He was looking intently at the ground, bending down now and then to pick up what appeared to be stones. He would then hold them up in the light, and then either discard them in the sea or place them in small pouch at his side. He went on in this way for a long while, and I simply watched, wondering what I could possibly say to this person whom I felt I had known for eternity, and yet whom I had not yet spoken a word to.  
  
"Prince Fëanáro," I said finally.  
  
"There are no Kings and Princes here. They are in Tirion," was the reply he gave me yet spoke to the stone he was holding in his hand.  
  
"Fëanáro," I corrected myself, and surprisingly enough it felt natural to speak his name in that way. "I want to thank you for your gift. It is truly an honour to receive such an expert piece of craftsmanship."  
  
"It is nothing. Only a perfect piece would be worthy of an Aulëndil." I was ready to become frustrated at him for praising himself again, but I realised it was only the truth.  
  
He finally turned around and began walking towards me, holding a stone in his hand. "You see this?" he said. It was a simple enough rock, a dark grey, with rough edges.  
  
"It is a stone. There are many of them here." I replied. He seemed to be rather amused by this.  
  
"For a smith's daughter, you are not very observant of Aulë's gifts." I tried not to take offence at this, but I could hardly conceal the fact that I was not pleased, although he most obviously was. "Here, I will show you."  
  
"I think I have had enough of you showing me this and that. I came here to be alone, and I do not need a guide to show me everything." In truth, I really did like his company, for he did indeed reveal many wondrous things about this place which I never would have noticed on my own. But at that moment I was beginning to feel worthless under his godlike presence.  
  
"Very well," he said, setting the stone down beside me. "I will not guide you. But if you feel the need of company, I shall not be too far ahead." And then he simply hopped right back up the cliff, and continued on his way.  
  
I sat there, staring at the stone he had set by my side for a long while. I picked it up and examined it very closely in my hand. It still appeared to be no more than a simple grey rock. Yet I put it away anyhow. I would bring it back to my father, and he could prove that there was nothing extraordinary about it.  
  
I clambered back up the cliff, and this time I did nearly slip a few times. When I reached the top, I was tired and frustrated; frustrated that I had failed to prove wise, something that I had praised myself for before. I took the stone from my pocket, and was about to cast it into the sea, but something stopped me. I knew I had to at least prove him wrong. I set back on the journey home, but I felt no joy in returning. I had found no inspiration whatsoever. I felt rather that I was returning in a worse state than I had left in.  
  
~  
  
Ossë was wrathful again that evening. I had come to a part of the shore where the cliffs became lower and lower, until they were eventually only sandy beaches. Instead of breaking upon the cliffs, I noticed that the waves came rolling over the sand, gaining size and speed and casting aside all that stood in their path. As I watched them I knew that nature was trying to speak to me. It was the inspiration I had been waiting for, and yet I could not, for all my supposed wisdom, decipher its message.  
  
My intent gaze caused my eyes to glaze over, and my mind began creating strange pictures out of the waves. Then small beams from Laurelin as it was fading began to tangle themselves in the sea. The threads of blue and silver meshed together until they were a seamless tapestry. The waves leapt higher and higher, their tips crested in an orange glow. And then they would roll onto the shore, ever more furiously. And suddenly I knew what I saw. I no longer looked upon the ocean, but on a flood of untamed fire. The yellow flames grew brighter, and at last I closed my stinging eyes. When I opened them the ocean was the same as it had always been. Yet the words of nature, of the Valar, of Illúvatar, were clear.  
  
Notes:  
  
Aulëndil: Lover of Aulë, a name that the followers of Aulë (which Mahtan was one of) were known by.  
  
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	4. Chapter Three

By the time Laurelin's first blossoms began opening again, I had reached him. He hadn't travelled far, only just around the corner. He had his back to me, and for that I was thankful. I knew that the moment he saw me he would comment on the fact that I had been wrong and he had been right, so I wanted at least to have the first word. Unfortunately, I took far too long pondering on how I might begin this conversation that he turned around and saw me first. Or perhaps he knew I was there all along. But much to my amazement he spoke no insult, no boast of superiority, but posed rather a simple question.  
  
"Did you find the beauty in that stone yet?"  
  
Taken completely off guard by this, I just stared at him. I must have looked like a stunned rabbit or something similar, but he still did not leap at the chance to rile me, as would have been easy enough.  
  
"Here, give it to me." He held out his hand before me, and without even questioning why he wanted it, or how he even knew I still had it, I reached into my pouch and placed it into his outstretched palm. I remember his touch still: both gentle and rough at the same time. And despite the cool wind, it was warm to the touch. So warm that it almost burned my own icy fingers. I drew them away quickly, but he didn't appear to notice.  
  
He took a few steps towards an overhanging of rock, and placed the stone upon it. Crouching down, he picked up a rock that lay beside him. Then with a sudden strength and energy that contrasted drastically with his seemingly calm composure, he brought the rock down upon the stone, crushing it between the two hard surfaces. I remembered the waves crashing against the shore. But the moment was brief, and he stood up again, gathering the broken pieces in his steady hands.  
  
He took my hand from my side and placed the pieces in it. When I opened my fingers I could not believe what it was I saw. Instead of a dull grey there was a bright purple crystal, its edges glistening in Laurelin's light. As I turned them over in my hands, I saw that on one side they were the same dark and lifeless color, but sprouting from the other sides was a shimmering garden of lavender gemstones.  
  
I reached out to hand them back to him, but he refused, saying: "Keep them. It was not without reason that I gave them to you." And that was all he needed to say to explain everything. Why I wore the pendant he gave me around his neck, why I had returned to him even after I swore I wouldn't, and why he had not scorned me when I did. And as soon as that became clear to me, there was no longer any barrier between us, and my tongue was loosed and I was able at last to speak with him freely. We sat for a long while by the shores of the sea while we spoke of many things, chiefly of metals and stones, and the gifts of Aulë, and of his spouse, Yavanna.  
  
"You know these lands well," I found myself saying. "Do you come here often?"  
  
As innocent as the question had seemed, a cloud of sadness seemed to pass over his face when I asked it. "It used to be that I would journey to the Gardens of Lórien. But there is no healing for me there. Now I come here more often, to the gardens created by Aulë and Ulmo."  
  
Yet again, I could not believe how little attention I had paid him before. Míriel was the only Elda in Aman ever to forsake her flesh and leave for Mandos' halls. When I had first heard tell that the bearing of her son had caused her so much weariness that she had chosen death, I found it hard to believe. Míriel was considered strong of spirit. Surely bearing a child, as consuming as it may be, was something that could be healed. But now when I looked upon this, her child, I began to understand. Even the strongest spirit could be broken by his. If only I had realised then just what it was I said.  
  
"Do you remember your mother?" I could hardly believe that I had spoken that aloud. Never before had I been so thoughtless, and I was certain he would never forgive me. Indeed that was the impression he most certainly gave me at first. Standing abruptly on his feet, he turned away from me.  
  
"Of course I remember her!" He said to the trees, yet he seemed almost to be convincing himself. Afraid that I would either cause him to become angry or weep, I quickly apologized. I did not want to be there when that spirit broke. And that one time, I managed to avoid it.  
  
"I am sorry. I should not have asked. Forgive me."  
  
He took a long time before he replied, or even turned to look at me, and I was certain I had failed. As each moment passed I grew more and more uneasy. The steady burning flame I had grown accustomed to had been caught in the wind. First it would become small, nearly disappearing, but then it would rise up, larger than it had been before, defying the wind. He finally turned towards me, and he no longer appeared to be the noble, brilliant figure I had seen before, but rather distraught, standing on the brink of reason and madness.  
  
He picked up some scattered stones and began throwing them into the ocean, challenging himself to create a larger impact on the ocean's surface every time.  
  
"There is no need to apologize." he said. "You know, no one has ever asked me that. And then," he stooped down to pick up another rock, "well, you made me realize that I did not remember her." I could not stand watching him, or anyone like this. Very seldom had I see any of my people behave in such a manner. There was little need in the Blessed Realm for anger or sorrow, and I had seen Fëanáro demonstrate both in the short span of time that I had known him. Whether Melkor had been honest or not when he sued for pardon, I knew not. Yet I could see now that there was a lengthening shadow in Valinor, and it had chosen Finwë's son as its aim. And there was but one thing I could do to fulfil the will of the Valar: I could lead him out from beneath the shadow.  
  
"Stop," I took his arm, ready to hurl another stone, gently but firmly in my hand. But that was all it took. He let the stone fall, and turned to look at me. At last it was his turn to be shown, not mine. I let his arm drop, and he looked first at his own hand, his brow furrowed. Then almost without realizing what he was doing, he took my hand in his, inspecting it with the same attention he had given his own. And then with one sudden movement he let it fall and looked at me.  
  
"How did you do that?"  
  
I could hardly answer, for even I was not sure. I had never been a healer. If anything my hands were rough, smith hands. So that was what I told him, that I did not know.  
  
"Your mother, is she skilled in healing?" He asked, still unconvinced.  
  
"No, she is naught but a simple seamstress." I was just as amazed as he was with my new talent.  
  
"Nerdanel." He sounded out my name, as if trying to read a hidden message in it. But I imagine he found no clarification in the name, for he said after: "Come, I think there are many things we could learn from one another."  
  
And so it was that I found myself as if guided by fate walking along the shores of Valinor with the son of the High King, while he questioned me concerning all things. Then he would turn to himself, and yet he seldom boasted, and if he did it was unintentional. Instead he would speak of his mother, and his father, and of other things which were too lowly for him in his pride to speak of before others.  
  
I did now know then, but I was the only person he had ever spoken to in that way. It must have been no simple task for him to say those words, for never before and never again would he ask advice from any other save me. And when they ask me how I ever learned to love him, I tell them simply that Illúvatar had given me the gift to turn fire into water.  
  
~  
  
Notes:  
  
Elves and Cold: Some have said that Elves cannot feel cold. I for one find that hard to believe. Why would so many have died on the Helcaraxë if the cold did not affect them? So as for Nerdanel's hands being cold, for the purposes of the story, one will have to believe in the fact that elves can be cold. As for Fëanor being particularly warm, I think that is self- explanatory.  
  
Geodes: I realise that I have just done something terrible with geology here. The rock Fëanor find is indeed a geode, which I know would most likely never be found on a beach, being a volcanic rock. If you must have an explanation, the only one I can offer is this: it is possible that during the shaping of Arda there was a volcano in this region, which is now most likely beneath the sea. Like Nerdanel says, she felt the place was ancient. I know this explanation isn't quite scientifically correct, but I am dealing with a different world here, so you'll have to accept it. 


	5. Chapter Four

Time in the Blessed Realm does not seem to either pass swiftly or slowly. It just is. I spent many days in the same way with Fëanáro on that journey. Sometimes we would speak, other times would be silent. And while I would feel alone, I always knew he was there, which for some reason or another comforted me. He showed me many things, some of which I had already seen but never in the same way, and some that were altogether new. Yet time did pass, and I found myself before the door of my father's house once more. I knew that there would be no one inside, so I went straight to the forge, where I was at once enveloped by the familiar smell of metal. However there was no one there and I guessed my father had stepped outside for a breath of air.  
  
While I waited, I sat down and began linking a few more pieces to an unfinished chain that lay on the table. My father came in a few moments later. He glanced at me and smiled, but did not say a word. I decided I would give him his time and see what game he was planning on playing this time. After a moment he spoke.  
  
"What is it you found that you are so happy about?" I should have expected as much from him. There was absolutely no hiding anything from him. But I decided I might as well try.  
  
"What makes you think I found anything? The same as it always is. The sky, the ocean, the earth."  
  
"Of course." There was no fooling him. "Do you know who I met with on my way in?" I should have known he could not find out everything for himself. "Fëanáro- and I could hardly believe how content he seemed. I told him how thankful you were for that pendant." He looked at me, his eyes sparkling, enjoying every moment he was using to build up his story, the end of which I was already well aware of. "He told me he had already been thanked. And you tell me you did not find anything." He was so pleased with his tale that he allowed himself a little laugh.  
  
"Very well, I will not tell my tale, since you already seem to know it." I said, with mock displeasure.  
  
"I am sure I will hear it in full before long. But now I must go to your mother. Do not stay here all night." With that, he hurried on up the stairs and I was alone once more.  
  
I took up a piece of charcoal that lay beside me and drew what came to mind on the parchment before me. There were tall cliffs, with waves rising up their sides, and a simple stone with gems locked inside. And then I began a face. A face formed of perfect lines, like the faultless designs of precious gemstones. Eyes that burned precise holes in the face, glowing like flaming stars from beneath arched brows. All bordered by a glistening frame of deep black. Perhaps he was not quite as flawless as I made him appear, but it was the image I had of him at that moment. And it is an image I still carry with me, and am able to look upon with fondness.  
  
Not wanting to spoil something I already deemed perfect in the simple form of a sketch, I let the image lie. And when I lay down to sleep that night, my mind saw only beautiful fire.  
  
~  
  
I woke late to find golden light already streaming into my room. I felt as thought new life had been breathed into my spirit, and the haze around my mind seemed to drift away. Unfortunately my mother came in at that moment wearing one of her rare worried expressions.  
  
"Mother?" I smiled at her, hoping her frown would fade, but it did not.  
  
"Nerdanel," she began, "the Valar create many paths for us in life. There is no doubt that all of them will lead to happiness of some sort, and yet there are some roads that are wiser than others." She sighed heavily, and all I wanted to do was embrace her, but I was afraid also to touch her. "There are some among us who are greater than the rest." She looked at me, hoping perhaps that she would not have to say anymore. I knew plainly of what it was she spoke, yet I could find no suitable response, so I let her continue. "Nerdanel, tell me what you know of him."  
  
I hardly knew where to begin. I had only just begun to solve the puzzle for myself, and now I had to explain it to my mother. Not to mention I would have liked to have told her myself, but then again I should have known that my father would never keep quiet. "I know he is the greatest Elda I have ever met, and that he will become even greater." This answer was obvious, and was not the one she was looking for. "Mother, you must know something. The Valar have spoken to me. There is no need for you to worry for me: I am in their protection. My mind is set on following the course they have made for me."  
  
She smiled, but I could tell she was not entirely convinced. "Very well." She began to leave, but stopped suddenly to say a last word. "Nerdanel, your father showed me your drawing. It was beautiful. I dreamt last night that I saw it, yet it was stained red," she looked as if she might cry, but then all of sudden she smiled and was her self again. "No, you are right. I needn't be troubled. I am sorry to have bothered you."  
  
I nearly shouted after her, but I was too startled to speak. The Valar never sent dreams needlessly. No, I thought. It was only a warning, nothing more. There would be no blood split in Aman. But I heard also another voice, deep inside me, whispering that that would only be so if I played my part. A heavy weight descended on my soul. 


	6. Chapter Five

It was a very long time before such dark thoughts crossed my mind again, and the heaviness of my heart passed as swiftly as it had come. Preparations were being made for the festival to be held by Finwë, in honour of someone whom he had not yet named. It was to be a magnificent feast, or so most people gathered from Finwë's long counsels with the Valar of late. I wondered if it was to honour the spirit of Míriel, for Finwë had been deeply grieved over the loss of his wife for many years. Perhaps he was going to try and lighten his long sorrow with song and dance. I was to be proved quite wrong by the time we finally departed for Finwë's tower in Tirion.  
  
I stepped into a carriage that afternoon beside my mother and father, both dressed in their very best attire. My mother in a long gown of deep blue, wearing jewels of a dark red color, all made by my father. Mahtan wore a robe of deep red and orange, with his simple copper circlet sitting on his brow. I wore a dark green to match the color of my eyes, along with a circlet to match my father's. And I wore around my neck the same pendant that had been given to me by Fëanáro, in a time that seemed so long ago now. It could not have been that long since I had last seen him, yet I was eager to meet with him again. All my life I had entertained myself with the study of people. Before, I had found many of them a challenge to comprehend, but in the end I would solve the riddle. Yet now I had met one whom I could not understand. Each time I thought of him, my bewilderment would only increase. He fascinated me, and that was why I needed to meet with him again.  
  
~  
  
The festival was certainly lavish. Every elf in Valinor was present, or so it seemed. They were for the most part Noldorin, with a very few of the Teleri, and many of Ingwë's folk, including Ingwë himself.  
  
The many Vanyar were explained as soon as I discovered who it was that this festival was being held for. A maiden named Indis, Ingwë's sister, born long ago by the shores of Cuiviénen. She was in all ways beautiful and majestic, with a hint of pride and yet of compassion alike, as could be found in all her people. Long golden hair, brighter and more luminous compared even with her own people, fell like the golden rays of Laurelin down her back. Her skin almost glowed, pale and bright as the stars, enveloped in a gown of dark silver. So taken aback was I by this guest that I failed to notice my own King standing beside her until much later. The two of them together appeared like a King and Queen of the Ainur; honourable, flawless and worshipful.  
  
Though all others seemed awed by this magnificent pair, I tried to keep my senses. In every smiling face around me, I could see only disrespect, disloyalty and faithlessness. As beautiful as the pair seemed, I could not look upon them without hearing my mind scream to me that the Noldor already had a Queen. Surely, Finwë could not love again. It was unnatural, twisted for an Elda to love twice. Yet as the night wore on, I continued like all others to revere and respect Finwë. He was the King, and it was incorrect to question him. Yet I could not help but wonder if I was the only one who saw evil in this union. Seeing the joy in the faces around me, I began to think I was. Guiltily, I slipped outside to breathe.  
  
Telperion had already waxed fully, and his light spilled forth, blending with that of the Mindon high above. It was only now that I realised who it was that was missing. Before there were far too many people (all of which seemed to want a word with me) that I had been unable to think clearly. But now I realised that among all those faces, there was one I had not seen: Fëanáro's. I remembered how odd I had found it when I had seen Finwë and Indis, and now I could finally understand why. I was also able to explain now why Fëanáro had become so troubled when I mentioned Míriel. Yet I thought it strange that he hadn't even mentioned the Vanyarin princess. This only created another riddle from the answer of the previous one. Musing to myself, I had not even noticed the presence of another behind me.  
  
"Daughter of Mahtan." Behind me stood Finwë, and awkwardly, ashamed that I had both failed to notice him and that I had only just been thinking rather unkindly of him, I bowed low, acknowledging his presence. "King Finwë Noldóran."  
  
"Your father tells me that you have come to know my son well these past few days." He certainly did not hesitate is coming to a point, a trait Fëanáro must have inherited from him.  
  
"I have met him, my lord."  
  
"Perhaps you noticed then that he is not present this evening?" He looked at me, distress clouding the smile that had been on his lips only moments ago.  
  
"I did, lord." Then, seeing that Finwë awaited a further question, I said: "My lord is there a reason for this?"  
  
"I was hoping you might tell me. But I can imagine well enough why he does not come. " He smiled at me, changing his mind. "I should not trouble you." He walked away, and suddenly I felt pity for him, the High King of the Noldor, looking so worried. It was the first time I came to realise that the King was just another Elda, no matter how splendid he appeared. I remembered Fëanáro's words, when he said the Kings and Princes were in Tirion. Yet I began to believe that perhaps they were not always in Tirion either.  
  
"No, King Finwë," I said as he stepped away, and he turned back around. "You did not trouble me. Gladly would I lend an ear to anything you would have to say."  
  
"You are kind, Lady Nerdanel. I should refuse your offering, and yet I must admit I am longing to speak with someone. I can tell already that you have no trouble in understanding and listening. I am sure you will one day be very wise, Nerdanel."  
  
I could hardly believe that it was indeed King Finwë speaking to me. But perhaps there was nothing to believe. As I had told myself only a moment ago, I told myself again. He was for now not King, but simply Finwë.  
  
"I do not doubt that you know my son well, no matter how brief the time you have known him has been." I must have been noticeably amazed by his awareness, because he smiled, saying: "No, I did not perceive all this on my own. Your father has told me much, and besides that I have only to observe Fëanáro to see that some change is upon him. He often spends days alone, and of late he will not speak to me. He says there are very few Eldar whom he feels he can speak to any longer. Am I wrong in assuming that you are one of those whom he will speak to?"  
  
"My lord, he did tell me much." I had no intention however of saying more than was asked of me.  
  
"That is good news. Nerdanel, there is a favour I would ask of you, if are willing. I will not ask you to tell me what goes through my son's mind, but simply to try and discover that for yourself. And if you can in any way, I would be very pleased if you would try to comfort him, so that he might smile again."  
  
"Of course my lord, I will do what I can." It was indeed no simple task, but in sympathy and obeisance of this great King, I knew I would have to try.  
  
"My thanks, lady Nerdanel. I am in your debt, and shall be sure to repay your kindness promptly." And then he left, returning with a smile on his face once more. He was King again.  
  
Notes:  
  
Finwë's long counsels: This is indeed a reference to the debate of the Valar concerning the severance of the marriage of Finwë and Míriel. Nerdanel was right in guessing that they concerned Míriel, but she was obviously rather mistaken in assuming the exact topic of them, as is obvious.  
  
Ingwë as Indis' brother: Tolkien does not say anything more than that they were close kin. Although the Shibboleth of Fëanor does say that she may have been his niece, I have chosen to make them siblings, since no final note was made on this.  
  
Noldóran: This is a name mentioned in the Shibboleth of Fëanor, which means only 'King of the Noldor.'  
  
Thanks to my friends Tinuviel-luthien and Itarille for beta-reading this. I have been forgetting to thank them.  
  
Please leave your feedback, good or bad, because my muse really can't live without reviews. 


	7. Chapter Six

It did not take me long to find him. He was the only other person in the gardens surrounding the Mindon that night. He sat, his legs crossed, balancing precariously on the rim of a fountain. The water leapt high into the air above him, and came down, rhythmically falling into the pool below. He was bent intently over a slab of wood, a few scattered pieces of paper lying around him. I watched him for a long while as he scribbled on the page, but he was so focused on his work that he did not even notice me standing right before him, even though I could be easily seen in this place where Telperion shone so brightly.  
  
"Fëanáro," I said finally, but he still did not look up.  
  
"I have no interest in speaking at the moment, so you might as well leave." His rude dismissal hurt me, but I had no intention of moving from where I stood. In truth, his words rather challenged me to stay, giving me even more motivation to remain rather than to leave, as had been his purpose. "Did I not make myself clear?" he said after another moment, but cut himself short when he looked up from his tablet. "Nerdanel?"  
  
"Who did you think I was?" I was a little disappointed that he had failed to recognise my voice.  
  
"I did not know. But I knew there was little chance that it would be you, and unless it was I knew it could not be anyone worth speaking to. All anyone wants to speak of these days is In-" he stopped abruptly. "What is it that brought you here?"  
  
"Large gatherings are not to my liking, at least not for a long time." I did not tell him the whole truth, for that would not have been something he would have liked to hear.  
  
"Then perhaps we will find each other good company, since we both hate people." He smiled at me teasingly, but I could tell his comment was not entirely in jest.  
  
"I did not say that."  
  
"No, but you meant it." I did not bother you argue with him further. He did have some reason, although hate was certainly too strong a word.  
  
"What were you doing before I came?" I inquired eager to change the topic.  
  
"Letters. I think I shall call the Tengwar, or something along those lines. You see Rúmil's letters suffice, but there are many obvious problems. There is too much of a risk for making errors, causing the reader to misinterpret. They have bothered me ever since I first learned to write." I just stared in amazement. "I am re-making them, bettering Rúmil's work."  
  
It was not possible! Not only was he a master smith, but already bettering the works of the greatest Noldorin scholars, and still in his early youth. Unfortunately, he too was quite aware of his genius, which I noted when he said 'bettering Rúmil's work,' rather than saying 'trying to better.' He obviously was confident of the fact that his letters would be better. Then again, they probably would be.  
  
"You must indeed be dear to the One." I said, not meaning to speak aloud.  
  
"I thought that once as well. But now I begin to think otherwise. If the One loves me, why is it that he takes away everything that I love?"  
  
I looked into his eyes, and though he was trying desperately to disguise it, I saw sorrow there, tears gathering around the rims. Just as I had done with Finwë but a little while earlier, I wanted to desperately to be able to comfort him. But I knew that would only wound his pride, and his anger would be something far worse than his sorrow. So I just went and sat beside him, at a little distance, and waited. He only took a moment, and then he was himself again, without a trace of sadness left on his face.  
  
"I am sure that any sorrow you have was not caused by Him." I said, and I believed my words, although I did not know then who it was if not the One.  
  
"If not Him, than whom else? Who else would first cause my father to love, and then rob him of that love? Who else could be responsible for changing the ways of the Eldar, for causing my father to love again? Unless it is the Valar who meddle with the will of the One." Those last words were hardly audible, but I still I felt a chill run through me. Never before had I heard anyone doubt the Valar, and I knew no good could come of it.  
  
"Do not say such things." But he still looked as though he might flare up at any moment, so I took his hand in mine, just as I had done before. Much to my surprise, I was nearly scorched by the hand. I had no idea flesh could become so warm. But I held on, and it was only a few moments before his features softened and his hand became cool again. "Do you not care for your father's happiness?" I asked, but he was no longer listening. He was looking deeply into my eyes, unmoving save for the steady movement of his chest as he breathed and the pulsing flow of blood coursing through his veins. Indeed, he stared for so long that I began to grow nervous under his gaze. Then, still without taking his eyes away, he took my other hand in his, and I slowly relaxed, my own eyes meeting with his.  
  
They were deep grey with streaks of the darkest blue. Yet most fascinating was the golden light that flickered every so often in the black centers. I wondered if perhaps there was some light, some flame before him, which was being reflected in his eyes. But I knew that was not the case. The only flame reflected there was the flame of his spirit.  
  
I do not know how long I looked into those eyes, but I know that our gaze was eventually broken, for suddenly I felt rather than saw heat. Feeling soft flames upon my lips, I welcomed the gentle fire. But it was brief, like a candle that dances then succumbs to the breeze. Then he pulled his hands from mine and looked back out at Varda's stars. For a long while neither of us said anything. Yet there was no need for words at that moment, no need for the letters scattered on the ground before us. Love requires no words.  
  
Notes:  
  
The Tengwar: Tolkien does actually say that Fëanor invented these "in his youth." Although they bear two names, the Fëanorian Script and the Tengwar, I think for now Fëanor is going to call them Tengwar. He isn't, believe it or not, as arrogant as he will yet become. 


	8. Chapter Seven

The presence of another in Finwë's gardens was a relief at that moment, as I was beginning to find this silence unsettling. It may be that Fëanáro was puzzling when he spoke, yet he silence was almost frightening. Unfortunately, this particular presence was probably the least welcome of all at that moment.  
  
She was walking down the stone pathway towards us, and I could tell Fëanáro was trying desperately to ignore her for as long as he could. Seeing as I had no intention of upsetting him at such a time, I resolved to go along with him, at least this once. But Indis' purpose was not to walk by. Rather she was coming directly for us. Surely Finwë was at the very least aware of the fact that his son was not pleased with the Vanya? On second thought, Indis most likely came on her own accord. She was proud, and not one to be lightly cast aside, no matter how much she was disliked.  
  
I saw Fëanáro's relaxed fingers tense and pull back ever so slightly. "Curufinwë!" She spoke, and his eyes opened wider, yet he still did not turn them upon her. "I am sorry you were not able to attend this evening's merry-making." His jaw tightened, but she did not heed the warning. "I was hoping to have a word with you, if that is the Lady Nerdanel does not mind." As small as the chance was, I had been hoping my presence would go unnoticed. Yet now, quite on the contrary, I had been placed in a very difficult situation.  
  
"Lady Indis," I began. She smiled at me, her perfect, golden smile. I stood up and lowered my head politely before her. "It is wonderful to meet you, daughter of Mahtan. The lord Finwë tells me much of your father's skill, and of your own." Formalities finished with, she came to her point: "You would not mind if I spoke with your companion for a moment?" She turned her smile on Fëanáro, and the arrow was loosed from its shaft.  
  
"Her companion would mind," his voice was cold and hard as iron, soft yet no less contemptuous. "Any words that a usurper would have to say to me would no doubt be worthless. I do not waste my time sharing idle speech with one such as you, Indis of the Vanyar." The last words were said so scornfully that it was hard to imagine they were ever considered a polite address.  
  
I nearly had to hold my breath to stop myself from crying out a protest, a protest of any kind. I had to stare, just as Indis was, for a long while, before I realised he had really said what I heard. He looked at both of us, then picked up his stack of papers and walked away without another word. Indis was hurt, but it did not take long before she regained her composure. The pain in her eyes was still blatantly obvious though.  
  
It was then that I began to pity her. It was no fault of hers that she loved, nor was it any fault of hers that Finwë returned that love. "My lady Indis," I said, compassion welling up inside me. "I am sorry." I lightly touched her arm, to see if my healing had any effect on her. It didn't, or at least not visibly, for she remained just the same. And when she spoke, her voice was soft, weak.  
  
"Do not worry for me, Lady Nerdanel. I think it is him we ought to worry for."  
  
With that, she turned away, and I do not doubt that an unseen tear fell down her cheek then. But I could never love her. No matter how innocent she was, she was prideful also, and unwilling to accept that perhaps her love with Finwë was unnatural, as indeed I still deem it was. Just as Fëanáro blamed her for Finwë's love, she believed he was the one causing their love to become a difficulty. Yet Fëanáro would always hold the upper hand in my mind, no matter how much I grew to respect and appreciate Indis over the years, I would never be able to love her. The heart cannot be cleft in two. 


	9. Chapter Eight

"Do you work with glass often?" I jumped, and I was lucky the chisel in my hand did not slip and mar the small bird I was carving.  
  
"I have not seen you for a while," I said, but Fëanáro was not going to have me dismiss his question. "And you have not given me a reply." He said, and his eyes seemed to say that he no longer saw any need for time- consuming introductions between us.  
  
"No, I seldom work with glass. I prefer stone." I replied.  
  
"Stone is fitting for one such as you. Glass is too fragile, too transparent."  
  
"And what do you prefer?" I asked, wondering if I might be able to analyze his answer.  
  
"Beauty, light." He knew he had stumped me, for his smile was victorious.  
  
"That is hardly a material. You cannot construct something solely from beauty and light. You must use something solid."  
  
"You are right," he replied. "And I have yet to find a material that is fitting for such a thing." Perhaps I should have listened to those words then, but another matter was pressing on my mind, and I paid little heed, if any at all, to what he was saying.  
  
"Why do you dislike Indis so?" I knew the question wouldn't be welcome, but it was one that had been bothering me continually for the past few weeks. I felt somehow that it was my responsibility now to restrain Fëanáro from woe and rashness, not only because Finwë so willed it, but because I willed it. However he seemed to be of a fairly light mood at the moment, and I almost regretted having asked the question.  
  
"Why?" He paused, and for a moment I was afraid that was all his answer would be. "Nerdanel, you do realise she is going to wed my father? You will say the Valar do not permit such things." He looked to me for some acknowledgement, but I gave none. I had known they would be married, whether it meant going against every law of the Eldar or not. He continued: "Well the Valar have betrayed their own decrees it seems, for they are permitting their wedding." I looked up from my work to find that the feigned happiness on his face was gone completely now, and in its place was the same bitter sorrow I had seen before, and had hoped never to see again.  
  
"That is why I came here," he said. "There is something I need to do before it is too late, and I want you to be with me."  
  
"What is it you have to do?"  
  
"Say farewell. I am going to the Garden of Lórien." There could be no denying such a request. Though I tried to exert confidence, I was in truth reluctant to take his hand and make this journey with him.  
  
~  
  
The soft singing of a gentle breeze was all that could be heard in this sacred place. Around us, flowers of many hues sprang from the supple grass. The smell of blossoms in the air was sweet yet subtle, as it always was here. Before us a perfect hollow in the earth's surface was filled with perfectly still, indigo water. And of the far side of this lake was a tall willow, its lissom branches making a domed canopy over one area. If one look closely through the small leaves, one would see a raised slab of moss- covered stone. On it lay the figure of a woman, preserved in all her beauty. To one unknowing, she seemed to be in a peaceful sleep, from which she would awake only moments later. Yet she had lain there for many years now, maintained only through the loving care of Estë and her maidens. Indeed all that remained of Míriel, Queen of the Noldor, was a corpse, albeit a flawless one. For she had departed, never to return.  
  
Having walked around the lake, Fëanáro separated the curtain of leaves and stepped towards his mother. I remained behind, unable to do anything more than breathe the enchanting air and watch.  
  
He knelt down beside her, and simply looked for a long while. He did not shed a tear. He clasped her hand and I imagine it must have been cold. He bent his head to the ground, whispering inaudible words. And after long moments in complete silence and stillness, he rose. There was no change, no marked difference on his face, not even the smallest trace of fallen tear. Yet when he rose the air parted from around him and the wind came through the thick screen of branches. The tree itself was finally able to take a deep breath, and a peace enveloped the forest.  
~  
  
Not a single word was spoken on the journey home, and when we reached the borders of Lórien, Laurelin was in her last moments of blossoming. We sat down on a stone bench outside the walls of Tirion, watching Laurelin in the distance. Then Fëanáro finally let go of my hand, and he too was able to breathe regularly again. I felt that it was at last safe for me to speak.  
  
"What did she say to you?"  
  
He thought for a long while. "She told me my father was happy now, as was she. She told me to see weakness as well as greatness, and to remember I was not only her son, but my father's also, and that he loved me no less than she did. She told me that I must remember this when looking upon Indis, and all those who bear her likeness." Then, he paused, as if contemplating whether he should speak the last thought aloud or not. "She told me there was but one person I had to fear." He turned to me.  
  
"And who is that?" I asked.  
  
The sorrow I had long anticipated finally began to reveal itself. "Myself." Looking again at those eyes, I could feel the sadness there find its way into my own heart. That he had himself to fear was no surprise to me, but perhaps it was to him. However that may be, I tend to believe that he had long feared himself already. But to have a long fear confirmed in something far more painful than the fear itself.  
  
His expression changing, his gaze turned to the copper pendant, the same pendant he had given me, that still hung around my neck. He long fingers lifted it gently from my chest and he looked at it closely, as if he were seeing it for the first time.  
  
"It seems so long ago that I made this. I thought it was most fitting for you are the time." He said.  
  
"It is. For is copper not the color of my house?"  
  
"It was. Perhaps you are still outwardly of copper, but your spirit is of a more treasured substance, I deem." Despite the transformation he was undergoing, his eyes still said 'as is mine.' Perhaps my spirit truly was great, even if it was not of fire like his. Perhaps he was indeed the greatest Elda to walk the earth, but he loved me. Surely, there was some reason for such a choice. I should have known then that no matter how treasured the substance from which I was made was, it was too simple, too scarce. Then I saw only Fëanáro, only fire. And I knew I must make that fire a part of me. 


	10. Chapter Nine

**_Author's note:_**_ It has been a very long while since I have updated, but I have managed to finally get something written. Sorry for the delay and I hope this short chapter is satisfying enough. Please continue to give me your feedback! _

Love is silver. Sometimes it is bright white silver, glimmering innocently like the stars. Sometimes it is dark silver, glowing red in the firelight, a passionate silver. It is a metal of less worth than gold, yet of no less beauty, when perceived from the right angle. It is abundant and precious at the same time. It is both everlasting and breakable. I like to tell myself that that is the reason the ring of betrothal is one of silver, not of gold, as is the ring of marriage.

Although I imagine in my mind a ring of silver upon my finger, I see now this ring upon the hand of another. The glint of light coming off the ring disappears as she places her hand into that of her betrothed. It truly is a beautiful sight. Indis, tall and fair, the golden hair of the Vanyar shimmering and blending with Laurelin shining high above her. And Finwë, proud, noble, Lord of the Noldor, his own dark hair in stark contrast with hers, yet still blending perfectly. Perhaps it is only the fact that they walk beneath the Trees, but they cause me to think of the blending of Laurelin and Telperion, at that time of day when both shine together, neither dimming the other.

A voice beside me reminds me why I am here. "I think it has been long enough. There is nothing to see here."

Fëanáro knew exactly what there is to see, although he was stubbornly trying to avoid it. At times like this I can almost find that stubbornness amusing, for it is so childish. It comforted me to know that even the greatest of the Noldor cannot avoid acting immaturely at times. I laughed lightly, and I even saw the corners of his mouth twitch, but he remained adamant in his decision to scowl.

"Look at them," I continued, and he reluctantly turned his gaze back towards them. "Can you not see how beautiful they are?"

"That is small wonder, seeing as they are walking in the light of the Trees." He tried to walk away, but I held his wrist, and he finally resigned himself to hearing me through.

"It is true that the Trees are beautiful, but can you not see how they carry a light of their own, that they are not put to shame beneath that holy light? Yavanna's creations are great indeed, but the power of love is greater still."

"He cannot love her." Despite his immediate denial, I could tell that my words had at least had some effect. Changing his mind would certainly be no simple task. Yet I still had one argument, which I had been saving until last.

"Curufinwë?"

"Why do you call me that? You have never used my father name before." He was trying to appear uninterested by making pictures on the bench with blades of grass.

"I do now, because I want you to think of your father." I gave him a moment, and he brushed his grass pattern off the bench and looked out to where Finwë still stood. "You love your father, do you not?" He blinked in agreement. "Then why do you begrudge him his happiness?"

He stood up abrubtly and looked at me angrily. I was afraid I had taken my persuasion too far. "Why does he begrudge me _my_ happiness?" When he cut himself off suddenly, I realised he was just as startled by what he had said as I was. It was up to me to speak the truth, although we were both afraid to hear it.

"Do you truly believe your sorrow is of his doing?" He just stared unblinkingly at the bench, while his hands, forever restless, began weaving the blades of grass together. After a long silence, I spoke once more; "There is but one person you have to fear."

He finally looked up at me, and his eyes seemed to pierce though the thick air between us, finally making it thinner. Finwë and Indis passed beyond the hill and Laurelin's last beams began to fade. Although I had seen this site countless times, it was no less beautiful than it ever was. The two of us were content to sit in silence, simply absorbing the blessed light, shedding light not only on our skin, but on our minds.

"My father used to bring me here every evening." I realised he was speaking again, and I turned back to look at him. He ran his hand along the side of a small tree beside us. "I would often try to climb this tree, when he was not watching." He smiled, remembering the joyful days of childhood. "Then he would become terribly afraid that I was going to fall, even though I was hardly higher than his head. He would hold out his arms, insisting that I come down right away. And I would laugh, telling him that I would never fall. Then I would jump down the other side, and find his arms around me as he held me, assuring himself that he would never let anything happen to me." He looked at me, laughing slightly. "He did that every time. And I never fell."

I found myself nearly in tears to hear him speak of his childhood. I would have liked to have known him as a child. I could not believe I had not seen it before, at the festival, when Finwë had been so worried. Fëanáro was his only child, the only memory he had of Míriel. And no matter how much he loved Indis, it was plain that Míriel would never wholly depart from his memory, nor would he ever be able to love in the same way.

"Fëanáro," I said. "Your father loves you, above all others." And his reply was a surprising one, yet hardly something I did not expect: "I know." He smiled at me, and I had no choice but to agree to what was undoubtedly true.


	11. Chapter Ten

****

"I cannot begin to imagine what madness has seized the realm of Arda! To think that the Valar, those divine powers, would allow such an intrusion into the natural state of life, that they would allow such blasphemy against fate itself, against love!"

Fëanáro paused to breathe, and while he did I tried to silence him. It was not very often that he became passionate enough about something to begin speaking such fervent words. In truth he was, in his youth, rather quiet most of the time, making his will clear with nothing but his presence—and his eyes. It was my turn at present to use this skill, so I took his hands in mine. For the first time since I had met him he pulled harshly away.

"They will not be wed!" he exclaimed to the opposite wall as he gestured affirmatively with his arms.

"Fëanáro--" I tried.

His hands fell. Seemingly a sign of resignation, yet he continued.

"You cannot tell me that you believe it is right?" he began again. "Then would I know indeed that all of Arda has lost its mind. I no longer have a mother, and it would appear my father has virtually disowned me. Nerdanel, you are the last-" I knew what he was going to say, as did he. He pressed his lips together and tightened his jaw.

The last while had shown Fëanáro in many different states, most of them cynical and contemptuous. The open rage he had just displayed was, thankfully less frequent. The most common was the one he returned to now. He would simply stare in silence and become purposefully oblivious of the world around him. He must have known Finwë and Indis would be wed, but I suppose he still clung to some hope that the Valar would forbid it. It was that morning that he had been told their final decree. I do not know how involved he was in their counsels, or if he even attended, as it had not been a subject he was eager to discuss. Yet when he arrived at my father's forge there was no doubt about the fact that he found their decision downright foolish.

"Fëanáro, it is impossible for me to imagine your grief," I said, the first sentence I had been able to complete all afternoon, "but that is no reason for you to fall into self-pity." I knew that it was perhaps not the right thing to say at the time. I myself was feeling rather downhearted at the moment; after all, it was only one more of us being tactless.

He remained apparently unaffected, and would not answer me, although he could not help but send me a glare of obvious disdain. "Perhaps it is better if you leave, Fëanáro. You may return once both of us have had time to thoroughly digest this information." It was a cold dismissal, one that would almost certainly merit a rebuttal, but the awkward tension was becoming unbearable. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and I was ready to expect a quick-tongued remark. However, he quickly closed it, walking out briskly.

The forge seemed deathly silent and the air thicker than usual as soon as he closed the door, sending up only a small wisp of dust. I sat down on a stool, my head resting in my palms. My gaze was fixed on the translucent specks of debris floating in the air where a stream of Laurelin's light broke through a small red-stained window. I cannot say how long I sat thus, but it was much darker outside when at last I was woken from my reverie by a familiar voice.

"Nerdanel?" It was my father. "I did not think I would find you here." I turned to look at him, smiling slightly. "Have you not been outside all day?"

"You sound like mother. Today is the first day in ages that you have not spent your entire day in this dark forge." I grinned at him teasingly, and he nodded in agreement.

"Did Prince Fëanáro come to speak with you? The King sent a messenger here, looking for him. I came to see if he was with you, but it appears he is not."

"He was here," I replied. "His father would be better off waiting for him. He was not in any mood for conversation when he left."

"King Finwë worries an awful lot about him. Not that I wouldn't be worried if my only son, thank the Valar I don't have one, was turned against me, and apparently the entire world." He said this a little jokingly, as he said almost everything. I wondered if Fëanáro was aware that so many in Valinor perceived his troubles. Of course he was, I thought again, he wanted them to know.

"Well," my father continued, "not the entire world." He looked at me and smiled that smile he liked to use so much. I only shook my head, although an inadvertent smirk crept across my face.

"Are you going to give the news to the messenger or not?" I asked, slightly annoyed.

"I suppose I should." He said reluctantly, sneaking one more mischievous glance at me before disappearing back up the stairs.

Finwë ought to leave Fëanáro alone. He was only a few years away from reaching his majority, and to be over-protective of one's children was never encouraged among the Eldar. Although for not being encouraged it was very common.

I considered going to look for Fëanáro, but thought against it. For the first time, I knew it would be beyond my power to comfort him, at least until later. That was one of the most important things to know about him, as I would become too aware of in years to come. If you are unable to stop a fire before it grows too large, it is a waste of strength to attempt to extinguish the raging flames. Better to let them burn, until they discover there is only stone. Then it is safe to aid the last embers in cooling.

****

I did not end up having to leave Fëanáro be for very long. That very evening, as I was readying myself for bed, I heard my name being whispered outside my window. I knew there was no one else who could possibly be visiting me at this hour, or climbing to the window to do it. I couldn't help but laugh quietly when I saw him there, pulling himself easily through the windows that were always open.

"Have you forgotten how to use a door?" I inquired, but he was not amused. He gave me that look that meant he did not wish to explain at the moment. He didn't have to explain; I knew him well enough already to know that he would be forever against me were I to tell anyone of his adventure. As for climbing through the window, that was simple; he was Fëanáro, he did as he pleased.

He just looked around for a long while; it was the first time he had seen the room. My father loved to show the house to visitors, having designed most of it himself, but he was under strict orders from my mother not to show the bedrooms. It was an intrusion on our privacy, she would say. Well, mother, it would appear my privacy has been intruded upon, and I do not believe there is much that I can do to stop it. I watched him as he ran his fingers up and down the columns, supposedly studying the design.

I realised suddenly that the room was very dark, so I went to light a candle. His hand was suddenly on my wrist. "Don't" was all he said. I put it back on my desk.

After he didn't say anything for a while longer, I became restless. "Was there something you came to say?" I inquired. Still, he did not respond. "Will you be wanting somewhere to stay, if you are not planning on returning home?" He looked at me then, and his eyes were like I had never seen them before. Not decided and controlled, but untamed and almost mysterious. I tried to look away, and yet something held me. I felt I had to do something.

Before I could, it was he who took action. He suddenly reached out and took my face in his hands, kissing me. It was not a kiss of passion or of innocent love, but a cold kiss of desperation. Feeling no desire to return such feelings, I stood stiffly, and he pulled away.

"Nerdanel!" He yelled under his breath, still aware enough to know not to wake my mother or father. I stepped back, remembering it was never wise to encourage the raging fire. Then he did something I did not expect. He started trembling, sighing audibly, but still trying to stay strong. My heart told me embrace him, but my mind said otherwise. He looked at me as if I had just betrayed him. Finally, realising I would offer no support; he sat down on the bed, his back turned towards me. I knew he was crying, and it frightened me. It was as though a dry and furious fire had suddenly transformed itself into water, killing the flames it had held onto for so long. I could think of nothing better to do than watch.

"Please…" he said, almost pathetically, if that was possible. This newly formed river formed wells of pity within me. I stepped cautiously around to face him, but he made no sign of being aware of my presence. Tears were falling silently now, save for his small gasps every so often. I knelt down before him, and took his trembling hands in mine to steady them. He made no attempt to pull them away, but his gaze remained fixed on the floor. I tilted his head upwards, and kissed him softly. This time it was he who remained unmoved. I stood back up, and still he sat completely still. Perhaps he was too ashamed to admit he had been weak. I myself was almost too afraid to believe it.

It was the very first time I had seen Fëanáro the broken, Fëanáro the weak. I do not believe there was another Elda, save perhaps his father, who ever saw him in this state. All others looked upon him with fear and reverence, as if he were incapable of weakness, a being to be accounted among the Ainur. That had been my view of him until now. Now I knew he was indeed Elda, and as susceptible to weakness and he was to anger, though he rarely showed it. I left him sitting there, while I made my way to a spare room. He was gone in the morning.

**Author's Notes**_: Please remember to review if you are still enjoying this story and/or if you have any constructive feedback. Many thanks to those who have been doing so, you're the reason I keep writing this. Thanks also to **Itarille** and especially **Tinuviel-luthien** for beta-reading every single chapter. Trust me, it makes all the difference. _


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter 11**

I was in Tirion several days later, delivering a message that my father had for the King. I was rather unsure of whether or not I wanted to go, but eventually decided it was best not to be worried. King Finwë had been kind enough to me in the past; I should not begrudge him my courtesy simply because I was afraid of seeing his son. Not to mention that I had no reason to be afraid, as I kept reminding myself. It was cowardly. This was what I was contemplating as I travelled up the many stairs to Finw's palace, admiring the view despite the fact my mind was elsewhere. I came to the magnificent doors, where two attendants were standing. There was no need to be wary in those times, so they opened the doors at once, smiling kindly. I didn't get far inside when I was asked by yet another attendant what my errand was.

"I am to deliver a message to the King, from my father, lord Mahtan." I replied.

"He is fairly occupied at the moment; may I take it to him?"

"Nonsense!" Came another voice. "Leave her be, I am not occupied in the least." The attendant bowed and smiled, leaving me with Finwë. "I was wondering when I would be seeing you again." Finwë said as soon as he had finished travelling the length of the hall. "I hear you father sends a message. He ought to have come himself; it has been too long since I have had speech with him. It is wonderful to see you though." Whatever troubles his son might be having, Finwë was obviously very pleased with the circumstances. Of course he should be, for his privilege was not one that had never been given, and never would be given again.

"My father spends most days in his forge, but I will give him your respects, my Lord." I handed him the sealed message.

"Very well. Would you like to stay a while? You must be weary from your journey." He gestured down the hall with his hand.

"Thank you, my lord, but I think I shall return." I had promised myself I would not purposely avoid Fëanáro, but that was no reason to go out of my way to see him. So I left after saying farewell and promising to return soon.

The journey home went much as I had expected it, and I was very much enjoying the beautiful city. I smiled and stopped to greet all those whom I knew, and it wasn't until I was on the outskirts of the city that I finally had the road to myself. I had been going in this manner for quite a while when I noticed another figure on horseback coming down the path the other way. So I would be meeting him, I thought. I might have known I could not avoid it. He didn't appear to notice me until he was only a few paces away, when he looked down from the broad sky ahead of him and saw me.

I had expected this meeting to be rather awkward, but instead he seemed to not even remember that anything had passed between us.

"Nerdanel!" He dismounted and took a small pouch out of the pocket in his cape. "You must see what I found, near the roots of those hills there." He pointed to the very base of the mountains, where there were many small, rocky hills. He pulled out a rather dusty stone, which he cleaned with his cape to reveal a translucent green gem, still rough and unpolished. "There were hundreds of them, just scattered along the hillside, many different types too. There must be a magnificent mine beneath that mountain." His eyes were alight, almost like a small child who has just discovered he can climb a tree all by himself. When he saw that my expression was one of detached excitement and worry, his face fell.

"Nerdanel, why must you dwell in the past? It seems no one is willing to let me ignore this crooked world, always giving me sympathetic yet hopeful smiles, saying how strange it must seem, and then telling me to think of how wonderful it will be to have another mother. I am not a child, and I already have a mother."

"I was not going to say that, Fëanáro. I know how much you loved- love –your mother. I was only going to say that it is not necessarily wise to close the world out. I am not dwelling in the past, Fëanáro; I am dwelling in the present." It was all I could think to say, although I knew it was not a terribly convincing argument.

"I suppose you are going to tell me to speak with my father now?" He looked at me disdainfully.

"It would be wise."

He sighed, both our arguments spent. It was useless to repeat what had already been said.

"Let us let the matter rest. Come, I will take you home." He leapt back onto his horse and held a hand down for me to join him. I had no choice but to agree.

The silence as we rode to my home was not an uncomfortable one, as I might have expected. He seemed deep in thought, turning his horse once in while instinctively, as though it were as easy as walking. It was the same way he did everything, as if he was born knowing it all. As I pondered the matter, I realised that despite the fact I had seen him in a state of weakness, I had never seen him err in anything he did. He never tripped, never marred what he made, never fumbled with anything. Perhaps it was this that set him apart from the rest. This divine way of carrying himself, of moving, of thinking, was what made him appear so much greater. I said appear, and yet I had my doubts as to whether it was simply his appearance or if he was indeed something far greater than I knew.

We reached my home sooner than I had expected, although already Laurelin's light was a dim golden glow. He dismounted first, and then stepped aside to leave room for me to come down. Whereas most would have held out an arm to help, he left it to me to make my own way down. That trait, considered impolite by many, was part of why I found myself falling in love with him. He was watching the Trees, his dark silhouette framed with gold facing me.

"They never cease to amaze me." he said in a detached manner. "To create a light so beautiful, so pure, then capture it and set it aloft for the world to see." I stepped up beside him and realised he was looking at one of the stones he had found, reflecting Laurelin's dying rays in the glistening green. "You see that?" he said to me. "How the light makes the stone so bright?" Telperion was now becoming much brighter, and he tilted the stone so the silver light would shine on it. "If only there were another Tree, where gold and silver were forever blended together." he mused.

"Will you be returning home?" I asked. It seemed a shame to interrupt the artist as he was creating, but I felt it necessary to have him return to a regular being, rather than this god-like figure that appeared every so often. If not necessary for him, than for myself.

"My father will want me home tonight." His answer surprised me. If he was in truth only pretending to have forgotten the grievance that lay between he and Finwë, he was doing it well. Yet I thought it possible that perhaps he wasn't pretending at all. He loved his father, that much was clear. It may be he was simply incapable of becoming angry with him, no matter what he did. He sighed. "He wants me to write invitations. His scribe's script is not of the highest quality." So the god-like being had not left yet. His capability of mentioning the matter that had so impassioned him only days before with such a light heart truly astonished me. He must have been thinking even more than I had believed on the way here. Only the One Himself could anticipate his actions or decipher his thoughts.

"Will I be seeing you ere long?"

"I should think so." He smiled sadly at me, and then rode off without another word. It would take one until the last days of Arda to understand him.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter 12**

Fëanáro would be sure to visit me every so often, and I found his company more and more enjoyable. Sometimes he would be angry when I met him, other times he would be close to tears, and on days when all of Valinor seemed in complete peace, he would be too. However, as I came to realise, no matter his temper when we met, he would always take leave of me in a tranquil and composed manner.

What I had seen for so long as a divine way of coping with life now became clearly a result of my own presence. I liked to at the very least appear to be humble, but it was becoming impossible for me not to realise my power over him. It seemed apparent that he himself did not realise it. Our relationship, however, benefited from his ignorance of this.

Before long, the marriage of the King was only days away. It was to be a small wedding, but our family was invited as my father was a rather close friend of Finw's. However, if one were to ask my mother, it was due to Fëanáro's interest in me that we were invited. Whatever the case, we were to attend, and mother and father were busily preparing for it. Mother was making new and extravagant robes for all of us, and father was preparing a magnificent gift for the King and his bride. The invitations had arrived with plenty of notice, written beautifully. Mahtan had noted that Finwë must have an exceptional scribe and I had smiled, nodding in agreement.

When the day arrived we rode to Tirion early although the feast was not taking place until later that afternoon. There was much celebration the entire day with the two families, but we of course would be out of place at such a gathering. So we spent the day wandering the streets of Tirion, paying visits to those we knew.

There were only a few who were added to the guests when the feasting began, which made me wonder why our family had been honoured with the invitation. Perhaps my mother had been right. I was relieved to see that Fëanáro was indeed present. Some part of me had feared all along that he may decide not to come at all. I was seated at a table for the guests who were not family, but I could still see him seated on the far side of the other table. I watched as all those around him ate the many dishes that were being served, and all the while he ate nothing, simply waving away all that was offered to him. Instead he was scrutinizing the cutlery and plates, and when he grew tired of that he began folding his napkin into as many shapes as he could think of. He did not once look up.

It was then time for dancing, and the minstrels picked up their instruments, beginning with a lively dance to get the guests off their seats. When Fëanáro rose and began walking towards me, one young maiden, supposedly of Ingw's house, watched him hopefully. He appeared not to notice her, and she was soon dancing with another Telerin partner, one who appreciated her fair-hair and radiant beauty. Fëanáro took me into his arms without saying a word, as if it were unconditional. He proved to be a wonderful dancer, but I should not have expected anything less. It wasn't until the song became a much slower one that he finally spoke.

"Do you think she always loved him, even when he was married to my mother?"

"It may be." I looked at the Vanyarin maiden who was still glancing at Fëanáro when given the chance. "Love is too often never returned."

"Do you believe then that he does not love her?" Why he had suddenly decided I had the answers to these questions, I did not know.

"He loves her; that is plain to see. But he will never love her like he loved Míriel. A love like that can be had once only. And once it is lost, it can never be regained." I heard myself speak, and it seemed as though they were not my own words. As though some prophecy was making itself known through me.

He pulled me closer to him and whispered something in my ear that I had not expected. "Nerdanel, do you love me?"

At any other time, the answer would have been simple. However, it seemed he had set me up to tell the truth. _A love like that can be had once only_. Thankfully, he gave me time to think. I must have thought for a very long time, for the minstrels began a dance tune, in which partners were exchanged, and Fëanáro was moving away. His eyes asked me one last time.

"Yes." I replied, and he smiled like I had never seen him do before. That weakness I saw in him was coming out in a completely different way. Whereas before he had been showing genuine helplessness, now it was something even less common: genuine joy. He was grinning, and his eyes were wide. As I watched him move away, I concluded that was how he must have looked as a child. The smile soon faded to a friendly one, greeting the maiden in front of him.

I found my next partner was none other than Finwë himself, so I quickly composed myself. "I see you have made my son smile." He said, as he went through the steps with almost the same skill as Fëanáro. "It is a shame you were not here earlier, I did not have the heart to enjoy the celebrations when I saw him frowning." He moved onto to the next lady, and I could think of nothing better to say than thank you.

I watched as Fëanáro drew closer and closer to me, remembering once in a while to look at my own partner. As soon as he came to me, he did not hesitate in taking me by the hand and leaving the dance floor. The Vanyarin maiden watched us with disappointment.

He took me onto a balcony, where the air was much cooler on my arms that were covered by only a thin fabric. I wished I had taken my cloak out with me. He ran his fingers through my hair, and lifted a few strands up, admiring them. He drew me closer and kissed me, lightly at first. The silver light reflected in his eyes and his hair. He kissed me again, this time more passionately. I do not know how long it was before he finally pulled away and looked at me; unfathomable wells of deep grey-blue met me.

"I love you." Each word was like a weight off his chest, and when he finished he breathed deeply. I found I was crying, and I thought they were tears of joy. Now, I think they may have been the first of many tears of sorrow to come. We stood holding one another for time unmeasured. It wasn't until I heard the music dying down and the guests returning to their seats that I remembered where we were. The sacred ceremony before union would soon be taking place, and I tried to pull away so I could return. Fëanáro held me back.

"Not yet. I want to see the least of it as possible." He said.

"Fëanáro, you have to be there. Surely, you are not afraid of it?"

He narrowed his eyes, but spoiled the effect when he smiled sadly. "I am not afraid to see them, I am afraid that I will betray my mother." So that was what had been bothering him this whole while.

"Fëanáro, you did not betray her, no one did. She left of her own free will, and the marriage was severed with her consent."

"She left because of me, you know that." I could not entirely deny it.

"At least do her the honour of respecting your father; it is what she would want of you." Whether or not I had convinced him, he walked inside, and took his seat, as I took mine.

As they spoke their oaths, the room became still. I knew somehow that Eru had indeed blessed the marriage and given His consent. I looked at Fëanáro, and he seemed to know also, for he looked down sadly. His lips began to move inaudibly. Once the oaths were complete, he looked back up as they exchanged their silver rings for ones of gold. There was a brief pause before they took one another's hand and turned to the heavens so that the One may witness their union. We all rose from out seats as they walked by, arm in arm, officially closing the ceremony. The doors were left open behind them, and the guests prepared to leave.

I walked towards Fëanáro, who was still seated, alone at the long table. None seemed to notice him as they passed by, so deep in thought were they. I watched as Ingwë left with his Queen, then his many brothers and sisters. The Vanyarin maid followed one of his daughters. She must be his grandchild, I thought. After Ingwë, those of the House of Finwë would have left, only Fëanáro was, as I now realised, the only one of that house. So it was that Olwë and a few of the Teleri were the next to leave, followed by the other unrelated guests, my parents among them. Soon, no one remained but Fëanáro and me.

He turned to look at me. "Nerdanel, you need to go home." He said.

I was not going to be dismissed that easily. There was one question that had been pressing on my mind. "Who were you speaking to, when they swore their oaths?"

He sighed. "My mother. Please, Nerdanel, you need to leave." I decided it was wise to grant his wish. I shouldn't have expected him to be unaffected by the ceremony. I was somewhat disappointed nonetheless, considering the moment we had shared not long ago.

"Will I be seeing you tomorrow?" I inquired, somewhat hesitantly.

"I do not know!" He was growing impatient.

"Farewell then," I said as I took one last look at him, closing the door behind me. He made no response.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter 13**

          The following morning, Laurelin's blossoms were not as bright as usual. A thick blanket of rain fell from the sky, a gift to the plants of Yavanna. In days of peace, rain was always looked upon with love. It was the blending of the powers of Ulmo and Manwë, and a blessing for Kementarí. I woke to these liberating tears of the earth, the subtle scent of damp flowers and the rhythmic fall of water. I smiled, breathing deeply. The first thing I planned on doing was walking outside for a while, as many others were sure to do. I put on some older clothing, as I did not plan on hindering the rain from soaking me right through. Not to mention rain in Valinor was never cold, though I have heard otherwise of the lands to the north and across the sea.

          I stepped outside in my bare feet, something even the Eldar were not wont to do in the rain. My mother, and even my father who was rarely outdoors, were sitting beneath a large willow, droplets of water falling from its thin branches. They invited me to come and sit with them, but I was not ready to seek shelter of any kind just yet.

          I walked in our gardens for a while, far enough away from the home to know I was alone. However, my solitude was short-lived. As he often managed to do at moments like these, Fëanáro appeared. Perhaps we had become one already, and we could not be alone without each other. A haunting thought to ponder now, if there is any truth in it.

          He was riding again, but this time with several bags, as if he meant to journey somewhere for a long while. He dismounted, splashing slightly as he hit the ground. His hair, now well past his shoulders, clung to his face where small drops of water collected. He might as well have just returned from diving from a cliff in all his clothing. I knew I must have looked the similar.

          He looked at me, contemplating for a moment, like an actor remembering the lines he has rehearsed. Only this actor wrote his own scripts as he spoke.

          "I came to say farewell," he began. "I am leaving for the mountains."

          He was waiting for my question. "How long will you be?"

          "It could be several days, perhaps a year. I cannot be certain of anything."

          I was having trouble trying to take everything in. I suppose then I thought he would be gone for only a few days.

          "Farewell then, until our next meeting." Was all I managed to say.

          He stared at me sadly, a thin veil of rain between us. Perhaps he had been expecting me to say more, but for whatever reason his strong gaze became softer at that moment. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I saw a tear that was not of the earth fall down his face. He turned away without another word. He paused as he was about to mount his horse, but kept his eyes away from mine. Suddenly, something told me I could not let him leave. A strange desperation crept over me, and grabbed at his arm.

          "No!" I said. Startled by own actions, I quickly let go. He turned back to face me. "I mean to say you shouldn't go. Something tells me, I do not know what, that you must stay. There is a shadow over Valinor."

          He smiled sympathetically. "Nerdanel, it is raining." I gave up. I could not make him understand something I couldn't explain. I just embraced him and tried not to cry. "I told you, I love you." He affirmed.

          After a long while, he moved away. "Farewell." I let him climb onto his horse and watched him ride away, disappearing in the mist. I didn't notice my mother walking towards me as I stared into the distance.

          "Nerdanel? Are you alright?" she questioned.

          I could lie, tell her I was fine. But I had never seen the need to lie to her before, so I didn't now. "No, mother. He left."

          She nodded understandingly and reached out to take my hand. "Yes, we saw him riding away. We were surprised he did not come to take you with him."

          The thought actually had not occurred to me until now. I remembered just before his arrival when I had mused that perhaps we could only be alone together. The weight on my heart seemed to tell me this was true.

          "You know," began my mother, "perhaps it is better that he leaves alone. Only then will you know the true extent of your love." She sighed. "A love, I must admit, that frightens me. And yet," she paused, "if it is a deep enough love, it will be one that will be stronger than many others. You both are great among your people, be careful lest your love turn to rivalry. If I am indeed gifted with any motherly foresight, you need to leave him be for a while."

          I was trying desperately not to cry now, and my mother must have noticed this. "Cry, my child. It is a blessing."


End file.
